Sleepless
by TamSibling
Summary: Mal:Inara. Post:Miranda. Simon makes an observation and Mal pays a late night visit to our resident companion.


Sleepless

Mal fixed his tea wondering when exactly he'd gotten used to the bitter liquid. Considering that insomnia was his problem, he should be reaching for a stiff drink, something to warm his belly and his brain to the point of sleepiness. But no, now in the middle of the night, he brewed a strong cup of Inara's chamomile and found it satisfied and soothed him in a way he would have thought downright disturbing only a month ago.

Smiling softly as the gentle scent of the warm tea reached his nostrils, Mal carried his cup to the galley table before lowering himself into a chair. It smelled like Inara, and Mal reveled in it. Truthfully, it was probably the memory of her that kept him drinking the stuff. Of course, he didn't need memories anymore, not when she was sleeping not forty feet away from him on his boat. But it was early yet, in their relationship. Not a month since Miranda and all that had gone down. Not a month since all of their lives had been shattered and hastily repaired. She'd already decided not to leave Serenity – for the time being – and Mal took that as a good sign. He just needed to figure out how to get her to stay, permanent-like.

The sound of approaching feet jarred him from his musings, and Mal took a sip of his tea as Simon's disheveled form rounded the corner. The boy's hair was sticking up on end and his sweatpants were thrown on hastily, hanging loosely at his hip bones. His chest was still bare and Mal thought he could detect the tell-tale sign of a hickey just below the boy's Adam's apple.

Hiding a grin behind his mug, Mal asked, "What s'matter, doc? Can't sleep?"

Jumping slightly at the unexpected sound, Simon blinked a few times to adjust to the dim lighting and approached Mal. "Oh, Captain, Mal, you startled me." As he came into view, he crossed his arms self-consciously over his bare chest and Mal fought the urge to chuckle. Boy was damn proper.

"Sorry, din't mean to take ya by surprise," Mal murmured. Eyeing the younger man up and down, he added, "I do seem to recall you ownin' some shirts though. Even Jayne knows how do laundry, Simon."

Cheeks blushing an even deeper shade of red, Simon shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other and explained, "Uh, of course. I was … Well, Kaylee and I … I mean …" Simon sputtered again and then stopped completely his mouth snapping shut. He didn't think it was a secret that he and Kaylee were now sharing a bed, but he knew Mal's thoughts on shipboard romances. And he'd certainly never intended to break the news half-dressed in the middle of the night – with no witnesses.

Mal took another drink, letting Simon stew in his discomfort, before waving a casual hand in his direction. "Easy, son. I know you an' Kaylee are sweet on each other."

Simon released his breath in a rush and sank gratefully into a seat. Placing his arms on the table, he told the captain, "I apologize for not speaking to you directly. I realize that was wrong of me."

Frowning, Mal questioned, "You think I got any say in who you bunk up with?"

Shrugging, Simon answered, "Well, you seem to have a say in whether or not I go out an airlock, so I'm thinking you might."

Smiling wryly, Mal nodded once as he took another drink. "You've changed a bit, doc. I think this life is good for ya."

"The life of petty crime?" Simon teased, returning Mal's smirk. "Yes, it does wonders."

Nodding in the direction of the passenger dorms, Mal challenged, "Well, ya did manage to get a beautiful woman outta the deal. One who loves ya to boot. I'm thinkin' that ain't so bad."

Blushing again, Simon glanced over his shoulder, thinking of Kaylee. He'd left her sleeping, covering her deliciously naked body with a thin sheet. He'd thought to just run up to the galley, get a couple glasses of water and then return to her side, waking her with a kiss.

Anxious to do just that, Simon rose and headed for the kitchen. "You're right. It's not so bad." Reaching for two cups, Simon ran the tap for a moment to get the water cool and added, "Although, I don't think I'm the only one who ended up with a beautiful woman."

His brow furrowing, Mal didn't like such blatant speculation on his relations. Feigning confusion, he glanced to Simon, than looked over his shoulder, assuming another lucky fella had entered the room. Finding no one, he turned back to Simon with a purely bemused expression and questioned, "Who else is havin' relations on my boat?" Leveling a finger at Simon, his eyes narrowed. "Did Jayne smuggle on some doxy? I swear –"

Chuckling, Simon lifted the glasses of water and rounded the counter of the galley, regarding Mal with a look of amusement. "No, Mal, I wasn't referring to Jayne." This time nodding in the direction of the shuttles, Simon elaborated, "I was referring to a certain, beautiful Companion who doesn't appear to be returning to the training house anytime soon."

As Mal's mouth hung open in shock at the doctor's insight, Simon gave him a slight nod of good night and headed for the stairs. Pausing at the top, he turned back to add, "Also, Mal, just so you know, she didn't leave your side for one moment while you were in the hospital." A look of mock confusion crossing his pale features, Simon teased, "I wonder why that would be?"

The doctor's head of dark hair disappeared down the stairs. Mal heard his footsteps fade, but barely paid any attention. He wondered when exactly his relationship, or non-relationship, with Inara had become so obvious that even Simon could identify it. He expected that kind of go se from Kaylee, but the doc? He really hoped that boy wasn't picking up on some of his sister's psychic abilities. One mind reading super-genius on his boat was enough.

Downing the rest of his cold tea, he rose and rinsed out the cup. What really irked him was that Simon wasn't wrong. Inara had not returned to the training house, and the past weeks they'd been back in the black had been peaceful, almost pleasant, between them. He'd even walked her to her shuttle on occasion, bidding her good night after a game of tall card with the crew. He'd almost kissed her the last time he'd escorted her.

She'd left her hair down, and it fell in soft curls around her shoulders. Mal often wondered what it would feel like to put his hands in it. He'd lain with other women of course, but he knew that Inara would be different, special. Her hair would be softer than the others, her touch gentle but electric, her kisses urgent but soft. Her body pliant but demanding. She would be a study in contrasts, and each one would fit him, fit them, perfectly.

Sighing, Mal dropped the dishrag onto the counter and headed out of the galley. He was still ruminating on Inara as he wandered slowly. His side still ached from where the Operative had run him through with that damn sword and it appeared his little nighttime sojourn had been ill-advised. Pausing for a moment, he reached out a hand to steady himself, surprised to find he was on the catwalk over the cargo bay.

Glancing forlornly to Inara's closed shuttle door, he turned to go, thinking rest was really the best thing. Besides, what did he hope would happen? He couldn't rightly barge into her shuttle in the middle of the night, demanding a good night kiss.

Could he?

He entertained the notion for second more and then shook his head firmly. No, he couldn't. It most definitely would not be proper, and while that wasn't something that Mal normally concerned himself with, it was when it came to Inara. If they were to have a chance at anything, then he would have to court her, treat her right. Show her that he could be a gentleman – all evidence to the contrary.

Turning, he felt another stab of pain as his wound pulled and he paused again, taking a few deep breaths.

"Mal?"

Freezing, he heard Inara's soft voice and wondered if he could pretend he hadn't heard her. _Of course not, you idiot! She's right there._

Glancing to her over his shoulder, Mal greeted her. "Evenin', 'Nara."

Her brow creasing with concern, she moved to him, pulling her robe tightly about her. "Are you all right?" She stepped in front of him, her brown eyes scanning his face and then drifting down to his chest. His shirt was covering an almost completely bandaged torso, she knew. She'd seen them sew up each of the wounds and had watched Simon as he'd redressed most of them over the past week. Resting a gentle hand just above his heart, she told him, "You look like hell."

Shrugging softly, Mal reached for and grabbed the hand she held to his chest, pressing it there despite the bruise it was aggravating. "Must be the lighting," he joked.

Frowning, Inara knew that wasn't true. "Liar," she murmured softly, her eyes and voice portraying no malice. Moving a gentle arm around his waist, she slowly guided him back towards her shuttle. "You need to sit down."

"I can go to my bunk," he protested weakly, not at all hating the idea of being so close to Inara. From where she was now, pressed against his side, her arm at his waist, his arm around her shoulders, he could smell her and the real thing was so much better than the scent of that gorram tea.

"I think that's a bit ambitious at the moment, don't you?" She led him inside, guiding him to the couch. After only taking a step, she paused and glanced up at him. His face was a bit flushed and Inara knew it was because of the pain in his side, but she could also see the way he furtively avoided her glance. Smiling softly, she wondered how far she could push him. "It's probably easier for you to lie down, isn't it?"

Mal gulped, hoping his sudden discomfort wasn't easy to read in the dim lighting. Risking a look at her, he saw the playful smile on her lips and returned it tenfold. So, she wanted to play, did she? "Well, if you insist."

Holding his gaze for a second more, Inara saw the spark of mischief in his eyes and knew she'd been caught. She didn't care. Without any further discussion Inara changed directions and eased him onto the edge of her bed. Removing his boots, she gently pressed him back into the pillows. Mal noticed with a small smile that the side she'd placed him on was unruffled by sleep. It appeared Inara kept to her side and her side alone and he wondered if that was a tool of the trade or simply practice for when she shared her bed on a more permanent basis.

Shaking that thought away, Mal felt better as his back rested on the soft mattress. Sitting at his side, Inara pressed cool fingers to his forehead, still frowning slightly. "You're warm. Should I get Simon?"

With a small shake of the head, Mal told her, "No. I'm fine. Jus' ain't been sleepin' all that regular." Smiling softly, he added with a wink, "Plus, the doc's a mite busy at the moment."

Returning his knowing grin with one of her own, Inara placed her hands in her lap. "Ah yes, Simon and Kaylee." Cocking an eyebrow at him, she asked, "Why aren't you yelling?"

"I ain't that much of a self-righteous hun dan, am I?" The question was rhetorical, but Inara opened her mouth as if to answer before chuckling softly. He joined her laugh and Mal wondered if things had ever been better between them. It was easy almost, and he liked it. "I jus' want Kaylee to be happy. An' apparently, against most laws o' man an' nature, the doc makes her happy."

"Simon's not that bad, Mal," she mused. "Sure, he had a rough start when he came on board, but …" Trailing off, Inara caught sight of Mal's blue eyes staring at her and found her breath catching in her throat. He continued to study her and Inara felt a blush creeping up her neck. "What?" she asked softly. Reaching up a tentative hand to her cheek, she asked, "Do I have something on my face?"

Jus' beauty, Mal wanted to say and immediately wondered when he'd become so moony. This was not like him, not in the least. But then again, Inara was unlike any other, so maybe a bit of change wasn't such a bad thing. Shaking his head, he cleared her throat. "No, no you don't. Sorry. Din't mean to be starin'."

Nodding, Inara gazed to him for a minute more before rising swiftly. She left his sight and Mal took the moment of solitude to silently berate himself for being so incredibly mushy. _Pull it together, Reynolds_.

Returning with a cool, wet cloth, Inara sat again at his side, a bit closer to him and pressed the damp material to his forehead. "Is that better?" she asked. Her hair was down and it was tickling his cheeks, overwhelming Mal with its heady aroma.

"Mmm," he managed to mumble, closing his eyes for a moment and imagining that he and Inara had simply skipped all the awkwardness and were already a couple. It would make things so much easier if he could just kiss her and not have to worry about what she'd think or what she'd do. If he could just press his lips to hers and know that everything would be all right.

Inara watched his face relax and felt a bit of pride. She'd managed to soothe him in some small way and she was glad. It seemed everyone was on edge since Miranda, and Inara worried. Worried about all of the crew of course, but Mal most of all. He was the most injured, physically, but it was the emotional toll of the battle that she knew weighed most heavily on him. Yes, Zoe had lost Wash and that grief was overwhelming, but Mal was suffering a harsher result – guilt. Guilt not only for Wash's death, but for the Shepherd's and all the people on Haven and everyone else the Alliance and the Operative had killed to get to Serenity. It was a heavy toll, and Inara knew those kinds of losses did not sit well with Mal.

"Why can't you sleep?" she asked quietly, her voice flowing over and around Mal like honey.

Forcing his eyes open, he reached up and found her wrist, wrapping his large hand around her delicate skin. Pulling her hand gently down to rest on his chest, he said quietly, "Same reason you can't, I 'spect."

Bothered by his insight more than she would ever admit, Inara sputtered, "What? Mal, don't be ridiculous. I've been sleeping just fine."

Smiling softly, Mal reached out with his other hand and brushed some of Inara's hair off her shoulder. He'd been right – softer than any other. "C'mon, darlin'. We both know that ain't true."

Sighing heavily, Inara avoided his piercing gaze, dropping her eyes to her lap. She let him continue to hold her hand, grateful for the warmth that was seeping into her palm, even more grateful for calming feel of his fingers gently running across the top of it.

"It's been difficult to sleep," she admitted haltingly, unable to believe she was actually fessing up to it. "Since Miranda."

"I think for jus' about everybody," Mal sympathized. He didn't push, didn't ask her to look to him, knowing that she would when she was ready. "You talked to Simon 'bout it? I'm sure he's got somethin' to help ya sleep."

"Have you?" she retorted, glancing to him with a knowing look that told him he didn't really need to answer. As he grimaced, Inara muttered, "I didn't think so." Sighing again, she took another moment, letting her fingertips soak up the steady rhythm of Mal's heartbeat. She closed her eyes for a second and instantly regretted it. Every time she did she was only confronted with the horror of Miranda – the dead bodies, the doctor's recording, the knowledge that over three million people had simply laid down and died.

"All those people," she whispered hoarsely, opening her eyes and staring at nothing. "So many people suffered, died and for what?" Glancing back to him, Inara questioned, "What, Mal? An experiment? So a frightened government could assert its power?"

Mal could read the pain in her brown eyes and his heart went out to her. He'd known for some years now what tamade hun dans the Alliance were. He'd known the minute he'd joined up with the Independents the nature of the battle he was fighting and the nature of the enemy. But Inara hadn't. She'd grown up in a privileged life where government equaled good. Her world had come crashing down the day they had landed on Miranda and Mal marveled at the fact that she had not come crashing down right along with it.

Easing himself into a sitting position, Mal kept her hand in his and said, "'Nara, I don't think there is a why. An' I think if we keep searchin' for one, it's gonna drive us crazy."

Shaking her head once, Inara told him, "I don't accept that, Mal. There has to be a reason, for Miranda, for River. How else can we justify Wash's death? Or the Shepherd's? They can't have died for nothing." Her voice cracked on the last word and Mal watched in awe as Inara pulled herself together. She took her hand from his, holding her palms to her flushed cheeks, taking a few deep breaths. When she turned back to face him, her eyes were clear, her voice steady. "It can't have been for nothing."

Astounded at her control, and slightly annoyed by it, Mal stared for a minute, before asking, "'Nara, do you think us gettin' the message out was nothin'?"

"No, Mal," she said hurriedly, clutching his hand. "No, of course not. We needed to speak for those people. You were right."

"Then that's what they died for. They died so that we could speak for them. So that we could tell their story. So that they wouldn't be forgotten." Leaning forward, Mal cupped her cheek, noticing how easily it fit in his large palm. "It weren't for nothin', ai ren."

Inara met his blue eyes, noting the depth of emotion there. She saw pain and sadness, guilt and grief, compassion and … Inara wanted to say she saw love there as well, but it was the one emotion she was unaccustomed to reading. Her clients almost never looked to her with love in their eyes – lust maybe or desire, but never love. She was uncertain how to identify it, but she hoped against hope it was part of what fueled the intensity in Mal's gaze now.

An intensity that threatened to swallow her whole. Pulling back abruptly, Inara reached for the cloth still against his forehead and asked, "Is this too warm? Let me re-wet it for you."

Mal reached for and snagged her wrist before she could flee and Inara found her heart pounding in her chest. "'Nara," he murmured, silently willing her to look at him.

Swallowing hard, Inara turned to face him, feeling her breath leave her lungs in a rush. Those eyes, it was unbelievable what they could do to her. "It's okay to be sad or angry or whatever it is you're feelin'."

Nodding minutely, she responded, "I know."

Tugging gently on the hand he held, Mal pulled her towards him again, his hand back at her cheek, his mouth only inches from hers. "Then _feel_ it," he breathed, his breath tickling her nose before he crossed that last inch and pressed his lips to hers.

Inara felt an instant need to pull back knowing that this moment would change the nature of their relationship forever. But as Mal's hand slid along her neck to cradle the back of her head, that fleeting moment of fear was gone. She'd wanted this, wanted Mal for so long, it was almost impossible to deny it now.

She leaned into him further, her hands resting on his chest, as his mouth opened to her, his tongue darting out to gently tease her full lips. She granted him passage, gave him what he wanted and felt desire burn in her veins. Mal's touch was urgent, but gentle and Inara wanted to be swallowed up by it. She wanted to be wrapped up in him, in this, forever.

As if reading her mind, Mal wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely to him. She wound hers around his neck, pulling her chest flush with his. He groaned softly at the contact and she was suddenly aware of his injuries. Pulling back breathless, she rested her hands to his cheeks and whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Shaking his head once, Mal nipped at her lower lip playfully before drawing her into another, deep kiss. As they parted, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "I wish I could keep doin' that, but my body ain't quite up for the follow through."

Smiling softly, Inara told him, "I know." Pulling back slightly to meet his gaze, she studied his face for a moment, her light fingers running over his cheeks, down his nose, across his lips. He snagged one digit as it passed, sucking on the tip of her finger lightly until Inara had no choice but to kiss him again.

"I'm thinkin' maybe headin' back to my bunk ain't the worst idea right now," Mal murmured, pulling his mouth from hers and trailing a line of kisses to her ear. "Not that I wanna go, mind you, but-"

"Stay here." It wasn't so much a question as a request and Mal froze at the words. He'd never heard that level of emotion in Inara's voice before. Not even moments before when she'd been talking about Wash or Book. It was a fragility he'd never been sure she possessed, but as Mal leaned back to meet her wide eyes, he saw it, saw her openness, her incredibly beauty, and her vulnerability. If possible, the recognition only made Mal love her more.

Glancing to her side of the bed and then back to Mal, Inara swallowed hard, thinking his silence meant she had to convince him. "I just, I haven't been able to sleep. And whenever I do, there are these dreams and I-"

Pressing a finger to her lips, Mal stilled the rest of her words. "I ain't never had a better offer," he told her, giving her a half-smile that let her know it was all right.

Helping him shed his shirt, Inara moved back to her side of the bed, lying on her side to face him. She saw the angry bruises and plain bandages covering his hurts and knew she couldn't ask him to hold her. It wouldn't be fair.

Mal glanced to her, confused by her distance. "Whatcha doin' all the way over there?" he teased, reaching for her hand and pulling her towards him.

"Mal, you're hurt," she protested, her heart racing as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"What this?" he asked, ignoring the wince of pain he felt as she laid her head on his shoulder. "Mosquito bites is all."

Smiling softly, Inara's light finger traced one bruise. "Big mosquito."

Grinning, Mal dropped a kiss into Inara's hair before taking in a deep breath. Resting his cheek to the top of her head, he felt her settle a bit more snugly at his side. "'Nara?" he questioned softly, wanting to know one more thing before she drifted off.

"Hmm?" She was already feeling sleepy, her fears beaten back by Mal's presence.

"Did you really stay with me? When I was in the hospital?"

Yawning, Inara murmured easily, "Where else would I have been?"

Smiling wide, Mal knew he probably looked foolish – like the cat that ate the canary or some such. But he didn't care. "Where else indeed," he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her soft curls, and soon falling into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
